No Love Lost
by Xelias
Summary: Chapter Eleven That was quite an adventure, the two of you, wasn't it.
1. Pyreflies

**A/N:** Welcome to "No Love Lost", not to be confused with General-Beatrix666's fic of the same name (which you should also read). Here you have the first of what will probably be many short fics revolving around the Leblanc Syndicate. I love them so. If you're a dork like me, you're welcome to play part of the FFX-2 soundtrack while reading this one. I recommend "Memories of Light and Waves," "The Farplane Abyss," or "Yuna's Ballad". :P That said, do enjoy.

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**Pyreflies**

There was nothing left to do at the end of the world, so they stared into the sky. That was probably the point of the end of the world— just to exist, to simply _be_— but it was also unsettling. He just didn't feel right, like he didn't belong here. And he probably didn't.

How was there a sky deep underground, anyway? Especially one swirling dusky orange-pink everywhere, endlessly, steam floating up and turning into clouds down in the valley at the end of the world. Yes, that was what his head felt like inside. Floating in the sea, maybe, off the coast of Besaid or Kilika. He'd never actually been to either place, but he imagined it that way all the same.

Nothing but flowers and water, wafting around in an impalpable breeze. Peaceful. Big white sun in the sky. _Nothing_ but flowers and water.

And pyreflies, which approached them with something like interest every so often, like they knew just as well as they did that this wasn't the place for them. Now that he thought of it, there were no people in sight here. Then where did they go? He _wasn't_ stupid. He knew what Yevon said about pyreflies, that they weren't exactly the form of anyone's soul, that they could be something totally different from one person or another. But then where did the people go? Did they just _stop?_ He didn't think he liked that idea.

But still… aside from the unexplainable discomfort he felt in this place, it was nice. In a quiet sort of way. He looked over and saw pyreflies drift over the boss's hair where it disappeared into the flowers. Sometimes when she moved a whole bunch of them would come soaring up from somewhere he couldn't see and disappear into the sky or the silver waterfalls. It was…

Pretty.

"Ugh, I can't do this anymore!"

"Boss?"

Those two stood up first, and then he followed.

"What am I doing, just _sitting_ here? Noojie doesn't want me in there, but… well, that's just something he'll have to deal with! Boys, we're going."

There were no protests this time, but in the midst of one final check of their equipment, he paused and took in the pyreflies. They came spilling out of the air now so they made his boss and his best friend look all _holy._ Holier than Yevon, anyway. Standing out here… really hammered home the feeling he'd had a couple times before. That Yevon got a lot of things wrong, back then. And to the extent that he was religious, he probably did, too.

But he couldn't help but feel like he maybe had it right this time, without even trying.

"Hey! Quit spacing out and get over here!"

"Oh, _really,_ it's hardly the time to be daydreaming."

He rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly and followed them to that big, black vortex.

"I guess, you know… I can feel good about comin' back here someday. How 'bout yous guys?"

Then the trio moved out, beyond the end of the world.

_fin_


	2. The Turning Point

**A/N:** This wasn't supposed to be quite as serious as it came out to be, but I figured it wouldn't do to make it a _total_ gag fic. It's a short little thing… FYI, the main tracks I was listening to during this were "Macalania", "Aeons", and "Bevelle's Secrets." I think I'm going to be a geek and make a habit of sharing these things. XD

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**The Turning Point**

It began when he was just a boy strutting around the streets of Bevelle with his head held high— not that he needed to at all, as he already found himself nearly six feet tall at the tender age of thirteen. He always heard everyone around him loud and clear when they sounded off on the dos and don'ts of everyday living under the watchful eye of Yevon, but although these things were a given in his mind, he found quite early on that he didn't care much. Logos obeyed the teachings just because they were the food he was raised on and the line placed before him. It was routine, and it was a relatively sweet deal: be a good citizen, obey the rules, and be rewarded for it. What was there to question?

He'd only ever heard accounts of the ravages of Sin. Sin hadn't so much as scratched Bevelle since his _grandmother_ was a child, so it wasn't like he had a real lens through which to view its horror. There were always stories trickling up from the south about small island villages being leveled or even casualties in Luca, but he'd never left this city, so they didn't really register. His home was here, along with the… vigorous, family-inflicted edification that he was truthfully beginning to grow bored of. There was no reason to leave, he told himself. No reason at all.

Once, a few years ago, after barraging his tutor with question after question about the ways of the world, Logos learned that Sin could sense where people gathered in large numbers. That was why Luca got attacked every few years. But for all his preadolescent curiosity back then, he hadn't thought to bring up the fact that Bevelle was the largest city in Spira, yet only suffered Sin's attacks once every several decades. Now that he was old enough to think about that, he did think it was a bit odd.

So odd, in fact, that when word traveled that a Sinspawn found its way inside Bevelle's walls, he had to go out and see it.

Of course he was no fool. He knew better than to bolt headlong into certain doom, opting instead to watch from the safety of a dark alcove as Summoner Yocun marched out onto the Highbridge with her Guardian in tow.

Lady Yocun lifted her staff into the sky, and it spun almost as if its smooth shaft didn't touch her palm at all. She swept it down with a flourish, then suddenly whirled to the side and thrust it out in front of her. For a second it pointed directly at him and he ducked down behind the wall, spooked that she'd noticed him or something. He didn't think that the presence of a teenaged boy should or could compare to the grotesque _thing_ looming above her, truth be known, which he likened to a crab gone horribly wrong. An angry crab.

The Guardian raised her sword and struck its shell with a dull, ineffective thunk, struggling to pull it free when it lodged itself inside. Logos saw something like a tail, long and dangerously barbed, twitch up and poise itself over the woman's head as she thrashed and fought to reclaim her weapon. He couldn't get his voice to work. Flinching back into safety, he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for a terrible sound.

None came. He slowly lifted his head.

A sharp crack pierced the air, followed by the sound of thousands of tiny crystals tinkling to the ground, pyreflies exploding from the fallen carcass of the demon. A few tiny shards flew far enough to collide with his hand and he almost hissed at their unnatural sharpness and cold.

Appropriate that he should freeze when he got a full look at the scene.

It was an aeon, standing there. Standing there, weightless and heavenly like a feather or snowflake, ocean-blue hair falling over sky-blue skin and sparkling in a shower of diamonds, _dancing_ on diamonds—

On that day, clutching his bleeding hand, Logos concluded that he would join Yevon.

_fin_


	3. Slight Problem

**A/N:** Haha. Just a silly little drabble-esque thing. "The Mi'ihen Highroad" and "Guadosalam" for this one, folks. I'm not sure I like having this from the perspective of a non-Syndicate member. Sorta disturbs the intimacy of the series, I think. But I guess it's all right. Thoughts?

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**Slight Problem**

Guadosalam wasn't normally this crowded. Yuna frowned a little. Was something wrong? Leblanc's goons were all over the northern Moonflow bank, and they all looked like they didn't know what to do.

She felt it was the least she could do to come visit after so long. It was just that she'd been so busy! She couldn't give up the life of a sphere hunter quite so easily, even having finally found what she was looking for. It was way too exciting. She was glad, then, that _he_ thought so too.

The sole problem rolled around during blitzball season. Of course Wakka had bullied him into becoming the Aurochs' new captain, and of course he hadn't refused. It just meant a couple weeks apart while Yuna went right on globetrotting. That was how she found herself here, at the gates of Guadosalam, with Rikku hanging on her arm and bouncing.

"Why's everybody outside?"

"Let's find out."

Yuna wanted to introduce Leblanc to him. She wasn't sure why. The fact that they were the only two non-Al Bhed blondes in all of Spira might've had something to do with it. He was from another world. She lightheartedly wondered what _Leblanc's_ excuse was.

She and Rikku descended the stairs into the city, but were stopped by the glut of people packing the path in front of them. Man and Guado alike shouted over one another, and she could just barely make out Leblanc's shrill yell of "_don't you patronize me!_" before she again faded into all the background noise.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ormi slanted against the far wall, arms folded. She always liked Ormi; he was very sweet at heart.

Rikku ran ahead, stopped, and cocked her head up at him in curiosity. "Hey, Ormi! What's going on?"

He looked frazzled as he replied: "Those Guado want their Chateau back."

_fin_


	4. In Vino, Veritas

**A/N:** A short note in regards to chapter two: I have no idea if Yocun was from more than fifteen or twenty years ago. .; I don't THINK they mentioned when she was alive in FFX, but if they did, I'll be very embarrassed and go back and edit it. X3 I just figured, "meh, it's an Easter egg." Well, whatever's clever. Now, this chapter itself… I couldn't stop laughing once I finished it, and I hope you all feel the same. Heheh. I didn't _intend_ for it to be slightly slashy at all, but it is, oh, it is! I am horribly ashamed. ;D

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**In Vino, Veritas**

"Ormi, for the love of all that's holy, _change the sphere!_"

The horror that was Songstress Ormi vanished in a wave of light and inexplicable musical notes. Logos stopped averting his eyes.

"I dunno," he remarked, "I don't think it's so bad. If I was _gonna_ dance, I'd wanna wear somethin' like that…"

"Don't. Don't finish that thought."

Ormi paused to down another cup of sake and then pulled another sphere from the pile, sending others under it clattering down and rolling along the table. "Yeah, yeah. Well, how 'bout this one?"

He got a suspicious sidelong glance as a reply. "You're going to tell me what it is, first."

"Aw, come on! Just give it a shot!"

"Ormi…"

"Come _ooon!_ What, ya scared or somethin'?" He made a playful jab for Logos's ribs, which the man deftly avoided.

"Oh, give me the damned sphere."

The usual metallic sphere-change jangle rang through the room. Logos took a look down, a curse exploding from his lips, and did his best to yank the long slits up the sides of his dress together. There was a spade stamped on his chest.

Ormi flailed on his back, roaring with laughter.

"Bwahahahaha! Ya… ya never looked better!"

Bristling, he removed the Lady Luck sphere.

"I'd like to see _you_ look this good," he countered, rather proud of his control over the slur in his voice.

He was about to ask Ormi why he was continually choosing the most feminine dresspheres when an idea popped into his head. An interesting one. One that he might have thought better of, were he only a _fraction_ less tipsy than he actually was. He stood, wobbling a little at first, and fixed Ormi with an intense gaze.

His tone was entirely serious as he announced, "There's something we need to do."

It was dangerous undertaking indeed. It was a gamble, climbing these boxes to the upper level of the storeroom; he could very easily fall to his death. But the rewards would be abundant.

"It must be here. The boss hasn't used it in over a week."

"The boss?" Ormi queried, eyes suddenly wide with interest as Logos surveyed the equipment before him.

"Don't you think it would be fascinating," he mused, "to be in her body…?"

"…Logos. Whoa. I-I didn't know."

"Pinhead. Where is _your_ mind? We're going to— ah, this is it!"

Under a haphazard pile of uniforms sat an ornate little chest. He opened it up without further ado and reached inside, smirking a little as he retrieved a small square plate decorated with a labyrinthine pattern. A garment grid.

Logos climbed down with such ease that he began to worry he was sobering up. He quickly sought to remedy that. Not one to rush into an uncertain situation, he reached out and offered the grid to Ormi as he tossed back another round.

"You first."

Ormi looked uncertain. "I dunno," he said slowly, but accepted it.

It looked like someone drew invisible blinds on him when he equipped the thing, and when they passed the top of his head Logos found himself face to face with Leblanc herself.

It could've been beer goggles, so to speak, but somehow she was even more enchanting now than he'd ever seen her before. Her expression was so open, so wide-eyed and innocent, but not without a certain pixie-like mischievousness touching her wine-flushed lips.

"Well, whaddaya think?"

…That voice did too much to shatter the illusion.

Logos just frowned a little and poured himself more sake.

_fin_


	5. Guado Hair

**A/N:** Okay, you asked for it: a Leblanc-centric chapter. If you haven't noticed by now, I've been trying to keep the mood a little lighter in the past few chapters, because the next one is gonna be a bit of a doozy. Soundtrack for the last chapter was "Anything Goes for Leblanc!" and "Chocobo", by the way. XD Somehow I forgot to mention that before. I bow my head in shame. Looking at the oh-so-spiffy epigraph below, we see that the soundtrack of choice for this chapter is…! "Real Emotion!" Though that's not all. "Luca" and "Kilika" were used as well. It's worth noting that Nooj is a little more personable than he is in-game, and that I attribute this fully to his youth and possession of all of his limbs. I'll shut up now.

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**Guado Hair**

_I don't plan on looking back on my old life_   
_I don't ever plan to rely on you  
__Even if by chance everything should go wrong  
__You'd come anyway and try to save me_

_Though from time to time it's an upward climb  
__All I know is that I must believe  
__'Cause the truth I'm seeking  
__Always was inside of me_

_And when I find the world of real emotion has surrounded me  
__The many things that you taught me then  
__Will always be enough to get me through the pain  
__Because of you I am strong enough to know I'm not alone_

_And if I find the real world of emotion has surrounded me  
__And I can't go on  
__You are there the moment that I close my eyes to comfort me  
__We are connected for all of time  
__I'll never be..._

---

Leblanc always had a certain fascination with the Guado. These normally reclusive people would come down to Luca in the heat of the summer without fail, every year, to watch their Glories dance in the water, always a little more reserved in their cheering than everyone else was. In her limited contact with them, they always came off as so… taciturn. Taciturn, but tantalizingly mysterious. And their _hair!_ If she had so much as five gil for every time she wondered how those strange, malleable strands felt, well… she'd be one wealthy girl, and then she wouldn't have to use up all her opportunity on picking their pockets.

As much as she liked them, everyone was fair game. They had to be. Pay the rent or be booted out to a life in the streets like some animal. It was as simple as that. It had been like this for a while. Never even knew her parents, thanks to Sin. Big surprise there.

Her proud nature got her fired from her last job— that was three months ago— just because, as her merchant employer found out very quickly, she didn't exactly react well to being told what to do. Never had. She got by on the kindness of others until she turned about eleven. She was fifteen now: old enough to be thoroughly disgusted by the idea of taking charity. If stealing was what it took to live securely, what was the problem?

Even if security sometimes did mean paying for rent before food.

Getting caught wasn't even an issue. She was just that good.

Today's mark was also a Guado. She prowled up slowly, clad in her best; everybody expected a thief in rags. He stood alone on the side of the bridge near the blitzball stadium, arms folded morosely on top of the railing, looking out at the water. She thought his hair and clothes were a little unusual, from what little she could see here behind him, but it didn't matter. Money was money in the end, after all!

Target sighted: the bulge of a wallet beneath the fold of his back pocket. The approach was slow at first, building up momentum the closer she got until she made out the little tie that held up the man's twisted, ropelike ponytail, almost there, almost there, hand at the ready and prepared to bolt they collided—!

"Ooh! So sorry, love, I didn't see you there," she blurted hastily, not even looking up at his face, "I'll be off, then!"

She took only one step before fingers closed tightly around her wrist. Immediately she whirled on him, snarling, "Get your hands off me this instant!"

And then she stopped, taking a good look at his face, and frowned in momentary confusion.

A human man grasped her arm. Well, a _boy_, really, not much older than she was. He looked like he could be about five years her senior, though, with that solemn look on his face. He certainly was handsome, anyway. But he looked so sad to her somehow…

"Give me my wallet," he told her, a kind of dispassionate irritation to his tone.

Leblanc tensed, trying to pull away. His grip was firm. "I don't have anything!"

The boy tugged her in close, and the look in his eyes suddenly had her rooted to the spot. She thought she almost felt a chill prickling up her neck.

"…You don't look like you have to steal to eat. Why are you doing this?"

"That's none of your business," she spat. "I do what I want. Now let. Me._ Go—_"

Her stomach picked that exact moment to groan indiscreetly. The stranger looked confused for a second, then relaxed a bit. Not enough to release her wrist, but the aggression in his posture disappeared, in any case. His gaze flitted down to the source of the noise for a second, then back up to her face. She sneered cheekily up at him, desperate to salvage the tatters of her dignity, turning red in spite of herself.

"Well, I… guess you were wrong about me, love."

He studied her for a long moment. Leblanc could practically _taste_ him violating her personal space, but at the same time she knew there was some small possibility that the heat in her face wasn't just from embarrassment.

He had blue eyes.

Finally, and with no small amount of caution, he released her. It seemed likely that he'd catch her the second she tried to run away, and even if she wanted to— and she did, didn't she?— she was beginning to doubt her ability to force her legs to move.

"Come with me."

"And just where are you taking me?"

"I'll buy you lunch."

"You can't."

He stopped. "Why?"

"I have your wallet," she replied, smiling sweetly.

"…What's your name?"

"It's Leblanc. And just so you know, I _don't_ need your help."

"You need my money," he retorted.

She glared silently.

"I'm giving it to you this way. So give me my wallet."

Masking her wounded pride over obeying him, Leblanc tossed her head. "And who are _you_, love?"

He hesitated, then spoke.

"Nooj. A Crusader."

"Nooj," she echoed, appraising the sound on her lips and in her ears for a second. "Hmph. Fine. If you're so insistent on having my company, who am I to refuse? But I hope you realize that I can't pay you back until I'm rich and famous, love. And you better believe that I will, so don't you _dare_ disappear on me!"

There was just a flicker of amusement on his face, then.

"…I'll look forward to it."

Leblanc stared at him for a long time, then burst into giggles. Nooj frowned.

"What?"

"Oh… It's nothing, love. Nothing at all."

_fin_


	6. Myrmidons

**A/N:** Little notes about last chapter, as per usual, for starters. Nooj's eyes aren't _blue_ blue, really, but they're a dark sort of blue-gray color. I was going to go off on a big ramble about them being the color of a stormy sea and all that melodramatic crap, but I just decided to leave it at that. I'm sure you're all glad for that. ::grin:: This chapter's soundtrack includes "The Farplane Abyss", "Disquiet", and "The Crimson Squad." Quite a change from recent chapters, ain't it? .;

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**Myrmidons**

Night fell on Guadosalam when she arrived. At the dip down into the Thunder Plains, rain barraged the hard earth and ricocheted into the air, sending a fine spray of moisture flying through the city on an electric breeze. It condensed on everything at this time of year, independent of logic or reason, and the goons at the Chateau's entrance noted the deathly squelch-crunch of her feet as they trod on muddy rocks like viscera over bone or something of equal unpleasantness.

The Leblanc Syndicate's three figureheads were warm and dry inside, ensconced in the safety of the living room and picking idly at that ever-present table of food once in a while. The manor stayed theirs after all, even after the Guado's return. Because of course, what tiny flicker of the conscience would allow three of the world's eight saviors to be ousted into the cold? The Guado people had jumped to make the compromise. A few of them stood outside their homes in the dim light tonight, had watched her pass with a kind of blissful, detached interest.

"Go on through," a goon told her. She did. After she was gone he slumped against the wall again, shivering against the cold.

Leblanc lounged with a glass of wine in her right hand, sprawled across two chairs as her subordinates bantered back and forth about something she wasn't really listening to— home was enough— and when the doors burst unceremoniously open she jumped and glared for a second, her feathers ruffled.

"Oh, it's you. What brings _you_ here, love? I'm busy, you know."

"You don't _look_ busy."

"Be a good girl, love," Leblanc warned. "Who says I have to play the host?"

Paine just frowned a little and shook her head, like she wasn't fully aware of what was going on. Clutched in her left hand was a bright red sphere. "I didn't come here to see you. I came to see them."

When Logos saw the girl's eyes bore into his own, he found himself overcome with a creeping sense of dread. He spared a glance to Ormi. Recognition dawned slowly, but he wasn't quite there yet. It would come.

Confused and affronted, Leblanc stood and strode to the door. "Well, whatever. It's none of my business. What do I care?"

Paine didn't even watch her go. Her gaze persisted on Logos's, and she stood in silence until long after Leblanc's footsteps retreated into the distance.

"You know why I'm here?"

It wasn't really a question.

"I assume so, yes," Logos began, quietly sensing Ormi piece the situation into something he identified. One hand strayed behind his back, preparing to defend himself if that was what this came down to in the end.

"I was… waiting. To talk to you about this."

Something clicked in Ormi's mind.

"You was a Crimson Squad candidate."

"Not quite. But close enough."

Logos watched her, words coming slow and wary. Her voice was hardening with every word and every word was tainted with an accusation of some kind. Level though she always was, there remained the dangerous possibility that she might lose control, what with her lips thin and sickly pale with the tension of barely-restrained fury. "And what does it have to do with us?"

"You were there."

"Hey, it ain't like that."

"You were _hunting_ us."

"We never found you."

"You were _there._"

She didn't falter, even when the crack in her voice exposed the truth that lay underneath her armor. It was a crippled thing, like innocence abused, rage rising and sinking in intermittent bursts like a convention current. She was here either to listen or to kill, and Logos sensed that the line between the two was thinner than the eyes alone might have one believe. Ormi felt it too, because he slowly removed his shield, tense and vigilant as ever. He saw Paine's hand twitch for her sword once, twice, and then fall limp at her side.

"I'm… not here to fight," she breathed. "I want you to tell me why."

Logos was suddenly very glad that he hadn't put his gun to her head.

He sat with a sigh, Ormi following suit, and together they watched her until she did the same. That in itself seemed like a stroke of good fortune. If it had come down to a staring contest, he wasn't altogether certain he would have held out.

"We didn't have nothin' against yous," Ormi began, setting the shield down on the floor beside him, "…We was older than yous guys are now, but I dunno. I guess we wasn't a whole lot wiser."

Logos cocked his head at Ormi's sudden appeal. He continued.

"How old're you again?"

"Eighteen."

"Yeah, you was just sixteen when Yuna killed Sin. When I was that age I was already in Yevon, ya know? That was… kinda all we had back then. We was raised on all of that. I know yous kids were too, but it still wasn't like us."

He peered over at Logos, who was chuckling softly. "What? I'm just sayin'."

"Forgive him for being so maudlin. But I believe he has a point. Do understand, there was no personal vendetta at all between our two sides. We did it because it was our job, but you have my deepest sympathies for your ordeal nonetheless. I—" Logos hesitated, "don't know what else to tell you, other than that."

She searched their faces again for an answer that wasn't there to find, then stood and strode to the door, barely turning her head to address them. Her voice was low and hoarse and tired.

"…That's not good enough yet."

And then she was gone.

Their eyes met for a second before Ormi looked away, slumping back in his chair with a deep sigh.

"It ain't ever gonna be good enough, is it?"

_fin_


	7. World Without End

**A/N:** About time I ground this chapter out. Not too much to say about this one, really. Just that I'm a sentimental dorkus and got all wibbly-eyed while writing it. ;O Soundtrack is: "1000 Words (piano version)" and/or "Yuna's Ballad." And, um… you're not _really_ supposedto get weird vibes from this, but if you do… ::sheepish grin::

* * *

****

**Worl****d Without End**

When Lenne and Shuyin finally faded at the peak of Vegnagun's corpse, Leblanc turned with Nooj and Gippal and began to limp down the path back to earth. The pain that shot up her leg gave her pause, made her wonder what things might be like right now were she fatally wounded or something. To Leblanc it wasn't so terrible, and this was surprising. The thought of the others in the same place? Suddenly unbearable. By then Vegnagun's head was only a memory.

Somehow the slope was steeper than it had been coming up. When she stumbled in her growing haste, Nooj caught her by the arm and held her until she could right herself. She answered with a smile, but without a blush. Their eyes locked, and Nooj's looked very, very different. By then Vegnagun's torso was only a memory.

The green-bronze discs in the sky left behind, Leblanc trod on. This pocket of the Farplane was corrupted; it had to be, with its air mottled brown and black and gray like a dying thing. A tapestry of desiccated autumn into winter into spring into the summer of our eternal Calm. By then Vegnagun's leg was only a memory.

Climbing down began to wear at the last stubborn sinews of Leblanc's strength and she knew it showed. She knew it showed in the same way that she knew how Logos might try to peek through the rips in her dress if he were with them, and she knew it in the same way that she knew they would both be there at the road's end, frayed but far from finished. By then Vegnagun's tail was only a memory.

You couldn't even see it anymore. It was like it never existed or some other apt description, but it wasn't Leblanc's job to think it better that way. Leave that to Yuna or Nooj or the fallen Baralai on Gippal's back. Behind her somewhere a tired Rikku groped for something to say in a weak little voice, and suddenly she felt like bursting into tears and didn't understand why.

The party stopped at the bottom. Logos struggled to his feet at the sight of her, nearly doubling up at some unseen pain. Ormi's face was dirty and streaked with blood. Their frantic exclamations of relief and heaven-directed gratitude got all tangled up in this indecipherable knot, but that alone was enough to make her forget about the one in her throat.

"Boss—!"

"Are you hurt?"

"We was so afraid you was—"

"You shouldn't be walking on that leg—"

"I-if anything'd— I dunno what I—"

"Your dress is absolutely _shredded_—"

"Boys, boys! You know better than that," Leblanc replied, wagging an admonishing finger. Her hand was shaking.

Nooj looked to Baralai, disoriented but on his feet now, then back up at the mess of floating silver rocks, frowning. "Let's keep going."

Everyone else marched on ahead. Nooj didn't look back and Leblanc wouldn't have seen if he had from her place beside Ormi's head and Logos's chest. They stood there long after the rest had gone in this silent, three-way embrace, listening to air and stillness and breathing while the carcass of a giant grinned at them from the distance.

None of them spoke.

_fin_


	8. Experimentation

**A/N:** Okay, yeah, this is most definitely not serious. :B At first it was supposed to be, but then I started writing it and I just couldn't stop giggling, so. There you go. Definitely something of a departure from previous chapters, but then I think the next couple are probably going to be a more separate "what if?" kind of deal, having gone full-circle from "Pyreflies" to "World Without End." I was listening to "Paine's Theme" while writing this, oddly… This one's slightly bawdier than the others have been. ::cough::

* * *

**Experimentation**

The girl was petite, robust, boyish and tanned from summers spent sprinting through busy city streets and playing in the salty ocean, body in blossom but far from voluptuous. Hair like an owl's feathers or tree bark: a kind of nondescript brown-black that might not really be a color at all. A lopsided smile, like a wolf. He'd always liked her. She couldn't have been more than eighteen.

He didn't ask, though he could've. They were all technically under his orders, after all, though the saucier ones tended to respect the Boss and only the Boss when it came down to it. She wasn't entirely one of them, but she was ornery enough to express great pleasure at the knowledge of why she was standing here in his doorway.

"Reporting for duty," the unmasked Fem-Goon announced, unable and unwilling to hide a grin of open humor when it sprang to her face. "2300 hours exactly."

Logos cast a searching glance into the hallway and then looked down at her face. She only came up to something like the middle of his ribcage.

"Were you seen?"

Leblanc was much taller.

"Of course not."

He retreated further back into the depths of the room. The girl's uniform clung to her smallish frame— scrawny, really— outlining the firmness of breasts and the subtle slope of waist into hips, lean muscle moving in each step. Her posterior was a tad lacking. That was a bit of a shame; Logos rather liked those.

But she was different, and that was the entire point. She wasn't the first, nor would she be the last. There was, or so he gathered, a very broad spectrum of women abounding in the world, and so there was a great deal to learn in the event that Leblanc should fall into an unexpected place. And it was so like her to do so. The boss never failed to amaze him.

"Hey, c'mon, Logos. Are we gonna do this thing or what?"

"Hmm, yes…"

She snorted. "You're awfully thoughtful for a man about to get his rocks off."

"Don't be vulgar," he accused, tongue clucking a little in obvious distaste. It was a mostly empty rebuke, though, save for the tiny sliver of offended sensibilities lurking in the foreground of his tone.

It was what he told himself, anyway, that his intentions really amounted to nothing but the noblest sacrifice for the greater good. For the _Boss's_ greater good. Yes, and if that sacrifice entailed whispered offers, clandestine leanings-in, hands on shoulders, then by Yevon, he would sacrifice until he couldn't sacrifice any more without stopping to rest for half an hour or so.

"Lock the door, won't you?"

"Yes, sir!"

This little girl could probably drink him under the table. Leblanc became amusingly surly and nonsensical after two and a half glasses of wine.

_fin_


	9. Nostalgia

**A/N:** Been a while! Yeah, um. I have the flu, I think. So. ::cough:: All inspiration goes to the lovely little microbe floating in my guts. :B No, this is not meant to be romantic in any way, though I suspect it may have come across like that in parts. But hey, if that floats your boat… heh, rock on! I truly fear how teh cute Ormi is. Also, I thought I should take this time to thank you all for your support. I really really really appreciate it times infinity and all that irritating bubbly stuff. Keep it up and so will I! Oh, yeah. Listen to "Joost Leave it Tae Me!" and "The Troupe Performs" or something.

* * *

**Nostalgia**

Leblanc would have loved so very much to rasp out a few choice words of… shall we say criticism, if she could, to the disjointed line of underlings debriefing her at the foot of her bed. Instead she glared, puffed out her cheeks a little, and swung a decisive finger to the door with a grunt of displeasure that she instantly regretted. A Fem-Goon lingered for a second, framed left and right by heavy wine-colored curtains.

"Boss, it wasn't our fault, really! If the old praetor hadn't recognized us it would've gone off without a hitch!" Then, with a touch of scandal, "We didn't want you to be _prosecuted _or anything…!"

Her hand tightened around the empty glass at her side. Prepared to throw. Fem-Goon backed away a little. Not enough.

"We'll do better next time, Boss, we _promis—"_

"Aw, get outta here already, will ya? Can't ya see the boss needs her beauty rest? G'wan," Ormi barked somewhere to the right, and the Fem-Goon saluted and vanished. Leblanc felt like she could kiss him. In lieu of that, she clapped her hands twice— loudly— and waited until his helmless head finally poked through the solitary gap in an otherwise impregnable cocoon. He took in her sour face, bare of makeup but pink with fever, and just barely managed to hold down a bright smile because he knew she wouldn't appreciate it and he didn't want to make her any unhappier than she already was. An unhappy boss was… well, she wasn't happy. What was good about that?

"What can I do ya for, Boss? Curtains, right? No problem. Thought ya could use some fresh air after all. Ain't no good to sit in there all day breathin' in germ-air, ya know? Eh… talkin' still hurts, huh?"

Deadpan, she nodded.

"I gotta say, though," he prattled on, seemingly oblivious to her growing weariness, "it sure has been a while since we seen ya _this_ quiet. Not since, uh, well, y'know. That whole Vegnagun thing, I guess, but— that don't count cuz that's not what I was talkin' about! Not since I met yous guys, probably. Not Logos, ya know, cuz we was still buddies way back before we met _you_, but ya know what I mean." He grinned as he drew back the curtains. "Yeaaah, I remember: I thought you was all silent and mysterious the first time we met. Sure got my interest fast."

Leblanc stared on, incredulous and not sure that she shouldn't be feeling indignant right now.

"Asked me if I had enough of all that Yevon bull, remember? Man, those were rough times. I'm glad I got rid of that damn beard before ya met me, though. Didn't suit me one bit, but I had to do it. Part of the uniform and all. Logos got by cuz he was kinda special or somethin'; all those assassinations and stuff that nobody ever heard about— well. You know. But anyway, it's a good thing, cuz I don't think he could grow a beard even if he wanted to. Heh. Hey, how's about I go track down that Tromell guy and get ya some crazy Guado medicine or somethin'? They're good at that kinda stuff."

Leblanc shook her head wordlessly. Ormi blinked, then ran his fingers through unkempt dark hair in puzzlement.

"Huh? No?"

She nodded again, and this time her hand fell to the edge of the bed at her hip and patted twice— insistently— and waited until he worked though his confusion and sat there. The fact that she had to shift further away so the sudden dip in the mattress wouldn't tilt her down almost did something to brighten her mood. Something unexplainable. Almost.

"So ya want me to—" He stopped and guffawed. "What, this is story time now?"

Leaning back against her mountain of pillows, she folded her arms and gave him the most authoritative look she could muster before saying in a hoarse whisper: "Yes."

_fin_


	10. Jump Ship

**A/N:** Pick a Hymn. Any Hymn. (Though if you really want to know, I recommend the Yunalesca, Spira, or Sending versions.

* * *

**  
Jump Ship**

"That's it, then," he said, and meant it. He stood and strode, invisible, shadelike, onward through the mire of warriors and unraveling clerics. Knowing this embroiled him in a peculiar mélange of emotions; could this be, in fact, that error against which the venerable fathers had warned? A crisis— a singular, awesome trial of faith that stole the breath away in one great and uncertain seizure.

But perhaps the crises were best left to those more deserving than he, a dirtied extremity of the body politic. Let him have but the sticky bitterness of an ideology that by the end he had almost learned to love. Allies and Aeons.

And yes, he admitted, the power.

The morning was cold and pale blue and ablaze with activity that wasn't supposed to exist this early at all. Logos scratched at his temple with the end of his gun in an uncharacteristic but appropriately metaphorical gesture, walking on until finally finding himself at the very heart of Bevelle.

"You there," called a bald priest, who admirably managed to veil his own swelling horror when he reached out and caught Logos by one ample sleeve, scavenging anywhere he could for answers for perhaps the first time in his life. Even to an insalubrious hatchet man such as himself. "Where is the Grand Maester? Have you seen him?"

What was this life?

"Do you mean to say you've _lost _him? Grand Maesters _hardly _up and _vanish _without a trace!"

"Bite your tongue and just look!" the man cried, and shot off into the streets without another swiftly disintegrating glance.

No, Logos felt and tasted. No, he would _not _look! He would leave this place at once instead, collect his wits and Ormi and pull them all into a single, confined room where they might at last find some semblance of order or at least the ability to properly function once more. So he did, and on his way out he caught just the shrill beginning of that new waif of a captain's entreaty: _Tell everyone of the Hymn—!_

The city simmered and popped again and again with a random and nigh-frenzied litany: Mika. Hymn. Our fate.

He finally found Ormi beside himself. Or rather, beside a mangled, raw, mostly naked young acolyte and ringed by dozens of spectators and colleagues. He smelled blood and the unmistakable fetor of burning hair, saw the twitching and blistered deep pink pucker of immolated skin.

"Crazy sonovabitch _set himself on fire! _He _set himself on fire_ Logos that is _fucked up_ this guy'd be _dead _right now if we ain't had a black mage around!" Ormi's face was deep red and shining with sweat beneath his beard and helmet, and with an unceremonious flail he seized the latter and heaved it with all his power onto the stone path. Sparks shot from its collision with the ground and then it clattered noisily and effetely into motionlessness.

"Said it was for _Yevon_," he mourned.

The man near the temple, they said. The Hymn. Our fate. Mika.

In the solitude of a dusty little pub, Ormi set his elbows on the bar and then knotted his fingers in his hair. Logos cocked his head and pretended he didn't still feel a bit sick.

"You know," he finally interjected, coolly enough, "Kinoc is dead."

"Yeah," Ormi said. "I know."

"That leaves a considerable range of possibilities open to us. Not that in our present circumstances—" He meant the world, of course. "—it makes a extraordinary difference regardless of whatwe might do from here."

Ormi heaved a deep sigh. "The only thing I know for sure is I can't do this anymore. It's just— y'know, none of it makes any _sense _anymore! What the hell was that guy _thinkin', _doin' that…? I just can't get my head around it. Just… fuck it, Logos. I'm _done._ And I dunno, maybe we's all gonna die anyway, but at least it ain't with a buncha psychos like these."

"Did you happen to see the _little girl_ they appointed captain of the guard?"

"Yeah. She's a good lady. But she don't belong here either."

"So you would vastly prefer to find yourself with a psycho like that summoner instead, then?"

"Yeah, y'know," Ormi replied with a humorless gust of laughter, "maybe I would."

A short stretch of nothing.

"That Shelinda's been goin' around sayin' some interesting stuff. Said we all gotta start singin' the Hymn o' the Fayth and that'll somehow work against Sin, or… somethin' crazy like that."

Logos fingered the grip of one revolver tucked into the depths of his heavy Yevon cloak. "So I've heard."

Our fate, they said. The Hymn.

"Or rather, so I hear."

They were quiet.

"It's pretty… ain't it."

"We'll go to Luca. There's bound to be _something _there."

"Heh. Just killin' time, huh?"

"Don't talk like that."

The sight of those clamoring masses locked in perfect and melodic stillness unstrung Logos a little as he and Ormi moved in solemn, parallel procession down the Highbridge. Ormi tossed his rifle into the moat with a kind of exhausted grace on the way, but the world was evidently too busy singing to notice. Logos somewhat feared that he would die a cynic, so he gave his companion a most deliberate glance just before they vanished into the silver woods. Ormi let out a relieved chuckle.

_"Asatekanae kutamae."  
_

_fin_


	11. Interlude

**A/N:** Man, it's been so long. But I haven't abandoned this or anything! It's just that I update as ideas come, and they haven't been coming real strong lately, aheh. Actually, I should mention that this chapter actually doubles as a teaser for a much longer (and uh, less worksafe) fic that I've been working on. No idea when that's gonna get finished, though, and I really loved this scene and thought it could stand alone, so there you have it. X3 Hope you like.

---

**Interlude**

"That was quite an _adventure,_ the two of you, _wasn't _it."

Ormi had to be immune to vitriol. "Oh-ho-ho, you don't know the half of it. Second we stepped outta Guadosalam, we got rushed by those whatchacallems, Gold Elements. _Fast_ little fuckers, y'know. 'S the one problem with this uniform— ain't nothin' hurts like a Thundara to the head."

Logos cast an arch glance to Ormi over his own feet propped on the table. The boss had opted for her ritual post-wettening bath followed by bed, and her subordinates knew quite better than to disturb. Especially given her current mood. As the weather did not comply with Leblanc's ambitions, much to everyone's displeasure, they'd been set back a day. The boss hated setbacks. Logos knew this. Logos knew her really very well, didn't he? He understood her the way a scholar might understand his field of study, and she certainly was his field of study. Such a thorough recognition of her habits, her actions, words and gestures and attitudes. Ormi didn't have the aptitude for knowing her in such a way— knowing _of _her; he merely found his way by the feel of her fire.

"Oh? Shall I pass the message along?" he replied, feeling unusually, unreasonably spiteful. "The boss designed those herself, you recall. I'm sure she would _love_ to know if you were… dissatisfied with anything."

Ormi sat up a little straighter. "Whoa, whoa, hey, I didn't mean it like _that._ We just got unlucky this time, anyway. It ain't her fault. Hell, I'm just as excited to get out there as she is, so… Y'know."

Logos stewed with folded arms and averted gaze, silent. Thinking. Knowing that Ormi had to have sensed the strain between them; his sensitivity to feeling proved truly baffling at times. An empathetic soul, was it?

"Logos."

"Hm."

"I was kinda scared for her out there."

He peered back at Ormi. "Really."

"Yeah." Ormi breathed. "I mean, maybe it wasn't really such a big deal, but I'm practically a lightning rod out there, and those towers ain't workin' so much like they used to anymore."

Logos hesitated.

"Ormi." Logos said gravely. "Are you in love with her?"

"'Course I am," said Ormi. "Aren't you?"

_fin_


End file.
